


The Brightest Blue

by Gryffin_Duck



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Magic, Synesthesia, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22887154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gryffin_Duck/pseuds/Gryffin_Duck
Summary: There are things that make you weird, even in the wizarding world.Alice Longbottom can see sounds and hear colors. It's what makes her Alice. Until one day, it's taken away.
Relationships: Alice Longbottom/Frank Longbottom
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	The Brightest Blue

_Mum's voice was yellow. Not a dull yellow, but a bright, happy yellow. The color of sunflowers. The color of the sun itself._

***

There are things that make you weird, even in the wizarding world. I was five when I realized I had one of those things. I didn't have a name for it and didn't know anyone else who had it, but it didn't scare me. It was exciting.

“Mummy, this sounds like green,” I said as I ran through the back garden, listening to the birds chirping and the wind blowing through the leaves. It made me think of green, made me see green all around me, as if a green haze had settled over the still dead grass.

“Oh, Alice, honey,” Mum said, catching me in a hug as I slammed into her. “It's not green yet. It's only March. By the end of April it will be green again.”

“No, Mummy,” I said, sighing as I pulled away. “It sounds like green. I know the grass is still brown.”

“Alice, sweetie, things don't sound like colors. Colors are things we see. We don't hear them,” Mum explained.

I didn't argue with her. Instead, I turned around and ran to the edge of the garden again. I knew she was wrong, that she'd always been wrong. For as long as I could remember Mum had corrected me when I told her things sounded like colors or looked like sounds. But it confused me. Couldn't she see the green all around us? Couldn't she see how the green grew deeper with every chirp? Couldn't she see how it turned from a light pale green to a deep forest green every time the wind blew?

When I next turned around and ran back to Mum, she looked concerned. She still met me with a hug, but she wasn't smiling, and she let go of me sooner than she usually did. Then she put her hands on my shoulders and knelt down so that our eyes met. Her eyes were a combination of green and grey and made me think of a sunny day that quickly turned stormy.

“What's wrong, Mummy?” I asked.

“Nothing, sweetie,” Mum said. “It's just...you're going to school soon, Alice. Remember when we talked about that?”

I nodded my head. I knew that when kids were five, they started going to the school just down the road from our house. Mummy told me I'd get to meet new friends, friends who probably weren't little wizards and witches. I wasn't allowed to talk about magic there. Then, when I finished at that school, I'd get to go to Hogwarts and learn how to do magic.

“Yes, Mummy,” I said. “I can't talk about magic there.”

Mum smiled. “Yes, sweetie, that's right. But...Alice...your teacher will expect that you know your colors and sounds and the difference between them. You understand, right? Colors are things we see and sounds are things we hear.”

I nodded, even though I didn't understand. Colors and sounds went together. They weren't their own things. I chewed my lip and thought. What if the reason Mum always told me this was because I was wrong? What if colors really were just colors and sounds really were just sounds? That meant I was weird...even for a witch.

***

_The chatter in the classroom was orange. It was the bright orange of marigolds, the color of a late-summer sunset. It was the color of creativity._

***

“It's beautiful, Alice.”

“Thank you, Miss O'Connor,” I said, smiling up at my art teacher. I was in year three and art was by far my favorite subject.

Miss O'Connor set my painting back down on the table. We were having a free day, which meant we got to use any media we wanted and I'd chosen paint, like I always did on free days. Free days were my favorite, because they meant I could paint however I felt and I could paint whatever I heard.

“But what are these brown splatters in the corner?” Miss O'Connor asked, pointing to the three brown marks in the upper righthand corner. “Did someone paint on your paper?”

“No,” I answered, looking at my paper. Most of the colors I'd used were bright to represent the cheerful sounds in the classroom and coming in from the yard outside, through the open window. “Those are from when Timmy dropped the box of markers. The bang sounded brown.”

“Oh,” Miss O'Connor said, her smile returning. She nodded, then moved on to speak with someone else.

I bit my lip and continued painting. Ever since Mum told me about colors being things that are seen and sounds being things that are heard, I'd been really careful about talking about seeing sounds and hearing colors in school. I didn't know whether it was something magical, but in case it was, I didn't want to let it slip. But every once in a while I said something in art class. Miss O'Connor never seemed to notice.

I liked to think it was my own special kind of magic, that I could see sounds and hear colors. Dad had told me about how some witches and wizards had different magical abilities, most of which were extremely rare. I knew some witches and wizards could change what they looked like by just thinking, rather than having to use spells and wands. They were called metamorphmagi. Then there were other witches and wizards who could speak to snakes and they were called parselmouths. But Dad hadn't mentioned anything about seeing sounds and hearing colors.

It had to be magic. If it wasn't magic, what could it be?

***

_The bustle of Diagon Alley was deep purplish red. It was the color of plums, the color of Mum's favorite wine. It was the color of excitement._

***

There were a lot of things I was excited about after I got my Hogwarts letter. Getting to try on the Sorting Hat and having it pick my house, attending classes about magic instead of maths, and of course making new friends who were also witches and wizards. But what I was most excited about was getting my wand. I'd been excited about getting my own wand for as long as I could remember.

Mum and Dad had both told me about the days they got their own wands. They spoke about how they felt warm when they held the right one, how Dad produced gold sparks from his and Mum's shot out a green vine. They both let me try out their wands after I got my Hogwarts letter, but I didn't feel anything and nothing happened.

“Can we go to Ollivander's first? Please, Mum and Dad?” I asked as we scurried down the cobblestone street.

“Yes, sweetie,” Mum answered, smiling.

Ollivander's was quiet. As soon as Dad shut the door behind us, all the noise of Diagon Alley disappeared. The only sound was the gentle ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. With every click, I saw a tiny spark of gold. My gaze then went to the walls, which were lined with shelves filled with stacks upon stacks of wands.

Ollivander, a small, wizened old man appeared from the back room and greeted my parents by name. Inexplicably, he remembered both of their wands. I wondered if his memory capabilities were another rare magical condition like being a metamorphmagus or a parselmouth...or whatever I was.

I knew the first wand I tried was unlikely to be the one, but I was still disappointed when nothing happened when I held it. I'd expected to break something at the very least. Ollivander didn't seem worried. Nor was he worried when the next five did nothing. In fact, the more wands I tried that seemed no more than dead sticks, the more excited Ollivander seemed.

“Curious!” he exclaimed as he bustled around the room, pulling more boxes off shelves. “No matter. We'll keep trying.”

We kept trying. I lost track of the number of wands I tried. Dad had begun to frown. Mum shuffled her feet. Two other first years and their parents had come into the shop and were waiting near the door. I began to worry, wondering if maybe my Hogwarts letter had been a mistake.

Just as a third first year and his parents squeezed their way into the shop, Ollivander handed me a wand that was different from the others. This one was glowing with a silvery lavender color, my favorite color in the world. I'd never seen color glow around an object before. It had always just been sounds, but maybe wands had some sort of quiet music about them.

I paused before taking the wand. Silvery lavender was the color of the piano music my dad played every night when he came home from work. It was my favorite sound. My very first memory was sitting by the piano, watching the silvery lavender wisps floating around the room as Dad played. I knew, even before I picked it up, that this was the wand.

Mom and Dad couldn't have described the feeling when the wand picked me. I felt the warmth, yes, but it was so much more. It was as if there had been a piece of me missing for eleven and a half years and now, suddenly, it was there. As I held it, the silvery lavender wisp grew until it was a cloud that swirled around me, threatening to take over the entire shop. Very faintly, I could hear Dad's piano playing. It grew louder as the mist thickened.

“I think we have a winner!” Ollivander exclaimed, clapping his hands.

I looked from him to my parents and back. All three were wide-eyed and grinning, which made me realize they could now see the silvery lavender cloud.

“Wow,” Dad said quietly. “Does that happen often, Mr. Ollivander?”

The silvery lavender mist disappeared when I handed the wand back to Ollivander. He settled it back into its box and ran his hand over the top before looking up and answering Dad.

“It's a first for me,” Ollivander said. “The most common reactions are sparks of varying color. I think, young Alice, that it means you have some extraordinary talent.”

I felt my cheeks redden as I smiled at him. “Thank you, sir.”

I didn't know how I knew, but somehow I knew that the silvery lavender mist and the music had something to do with how I saw sounds and heard color. I still didn't know whether this was a rare magical talent or something that just made me weird. But for the first time ever, I realized that it wasn't a bad weird. It was a good weird.

***

_The Hufflepuff common room always sounded like pale blue in the morning, when it was almost silent. At night, when it filled with chattering students and the rustling of papers and other miscellaneous noise, it morphed into a warm, orangey yellow. It was the color of a sunset, the color of Mum's cheesy bread fresh out of the oven. It was the color of home._

***

“Just keep trying, Alice,” Bethany encouraged as we sat at a round table in the common room, practicing levitating pieces of parchment. “You'll get it.”

“It's pointless,” I said, sighing as I set my wand down on the table. The silvery lavender wisps disappeared as soon as I let go of it.

“It isn't pointless,” Bethany said. “Some people just need more practice.”

“Says the girl who got it on her first try,” I muttered. “Professor Flitwick nearly fell over from the excitement.”

Bethany blushed. “I didn't mean to get it on the first try-”

“Oh don't be modest,” I said, picking up my wand. The silvery lavender mist formed again, this time snaking up in between my fingers. I pointed the wand at the tiny piece of parchment sitting in the middle of the table. “Wingardium Leviosa!”

This time, the parchment floated up a few inches off the table. But I was no longer paying attention to the parchment. Instead, I stared as the silvery lavender mist engulfed my entire wand and floated up until it engulfed the parchment as well. The mist was dancing, as if it were being blown by the wind. I tried waving my wand and the mist floated in the direction I pointed. And as I watched the mist, I heard my dad's piano playing in the background.

“Alice? Alice?”

I startled and the parchment fell to the table. The silvery lavender mist disappeared and the piano playing stopped. I set my wand back down.

“Alice?” Bethany repeated. “Are you okay? You looked like you were in some kind of trance. But you did it. You levitated the parchment!”

I nodded. Not only was it the first time I levitated anything, it was the first time I performed any spell successfully. And somehow, spell casting was connected to colors and sounds and all three joined together to form something strange and wonderful. I loved it.

“Alice? Are you okay?” Bethany asked again.

“Yeah,” I whispered, smiling. “I'm okay.”

***

_The subtle cracking sound of book spines that hadn't been opened in years was a steely grey. It was the color of stones that hadn't been wet in days, the color of clouds that might produce rain but might also simply shield the sun. It was the color of Professor Dumbledore's beard._

***

Mum and Dad's library simply wasn't big enough, didn't have enough books, to give me answers about why I heard colors and saw sound and why it was tied up in my magic. But the Hogwarts library was huge and filled with old, dusty tombs that hid secrets even Professor Dumbledore didn't know about. If there was an answer, it existed in those books.

Bethany thought I was just studying a lot. I hadn't told anyone what I was researching, not for fear of them thinking I was weird, but because I wanted to keep it my own secret. I didn't want the whole world knowing about my colors.

I went to the library every night, scouring the shelves for a book that might explain why colors and sounds were so tied together. I read books about witches and wizards with unique abilities such as metamorphmagi and parselmouths. I read books about magical ailments and afflictions such as dragon pox and lycanthropy. But none of them had anything in them that sounded like what I had.

Months passed and I still researched every night, determined to figure it out. In class, every spell I performed was accompanied by a silvery lavender mist and faint piano playing. It was magical in every sense of the word and somehow it made my spells better and more powerful. Like Bethany, I soon became the one who could perform spells without much practice.

One day it occurred to me that perhaps I'd been looking in the wrong spot. Perhaps whatever made me the way I was didn't have anything to do with a special magical talent or affliction. Perhaps, my brain simply worked differently than everyone else's. That night, I located books about the human brain.

There weren't many, and the ones that were there looked as if they hadn't been read during Professor Dumbledore's term as headmaster. I blew the dust off three that looked promising and brought them to the circulation desk. I'd promised Bethany I wouldn't stay late at the library since she needed to send a letter and didn't want to go to the owlery alone.

Madam Pince raised her eyebrows over her tiny glasses as she checked out the books. I was sure she'd noticed me browsing every single night since the start of the year, but she hadn't said anything to me about it. She was slightly terrifying. As soon as she'd finished checking out the books, I gathered them in my arms and hurried to the door.

On my way there, I stumbled over my own feet and dropped all three books in order to catch myself on a nearby table. Blushing deeply, I scrambled to pick up the books.

“Are you all right?” someone asked.

I paused, my hand on the second book, and looked up. Standing in front of me was a boy I hadn't seen before. He had a mop of shaggy blonde hair atop his head, dimples in his cheeks, and the greyest eyes I'd ever seen. He looked older than me, at least a third year. He was holding my last book.

“Hi,” he said, handing me the book. “I'm Frank.”

His voice was the color of the ocean on a warm summer day.

***

_Frank Longbottom's voice was a deep greenish-blue. It was the color of the ocean waves that lapped against the shore at my grandparents' cottage. It was the color of mystery and it was the color of happiness and the color of calm._

***

The books from the library had not held the answers I was looking for, but they did bring me to Frank. Frank, whom I secretly admired for the next three years. Second, third, and fourth years were all spent watching Frank from Gryffindor. It wasn't until fifth year that I finally got the nerve to ask him to Hogsmeade, at Bethany's insistence.

“You've got nothing to lose,” Bethany said. “It's his last year and this is the last Hogsmeade visit of the year. And, Alice...none of us know what's going to happen these next few years.”

Bethany was right, as she usually was. We all knew there was a war brewing, even though the professors tried as hard as they could to shield us from it. We all saw the articles in the Prophet about the disappearances, about the seemingly random acts of violence. I knew Frank knew it. He'd been accepted into the Auror Academy.

“Okay, I'll do it,” I said. I looked back at the hedgehog I was meant to be turning into pincushion. With a flick of my wand, I said the incantation, and watched as the familiar silvery lavender mist surrounded the hedgehog.

Frank said yes, and for a few hours on a Saturday we forgot about our upcoming exams and the chaos and uncertainty that consumed the wizarding world. We ate at the Three Broomsticks and wandered in and out of the shops. Frank spoke of his fears about becoming an Auror, but also about the need to help that he felt. I spoke of how I hated that I had two more years left at school before I could do anything. I spoke about how helpless I felt.

Frank kissed me under a beech tree by the lake on our way back to the castle. I saw silvery lavender. I saw ocean blue. I saw the two colors mix together to create a color I didn't even know the name for. It was silver and blue and green and lavender. It was a new color and it was ours.

***

_Church bells sounded like gold. They sounded like gold brighter than a gold Galleon, shinier than the Quidditch Cup, and happier than anything in the world. They sounded like love._

***

Frank proposed on my last day of Hogwarts, under the same beech tree where we shared our first kiss. He had changed over the past two years. The war had hardened him and he was no longer the innocent boy determined to make a difference. He was now the worldly man who was making a difference. But he was still my Frank.

Our engagement was short, as most of them were during the war years. No one knew how much time they had left and no one wanted to waste it. We also only had a mere two months before I began Auror training and Frank left for his first mission as a junior Auror. Neither of us spoke it aloud, but we wanted to be married before he left.

We were afraid. Everyone was afraid.

But for that one day in that tiny chapel just down the road from my primary school, we forgot about training and missions. We forgot about Death Eaters and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. It was just us and our closest family and friends. And we were all that mattered.

“I do.”

“I do.”

Frank kissed me. Our first kiss as man and wife. His greenish-blue of the ocean swirled around us and my silvery lavender joined it, forming the magical silvery bright blue only I could see. It occurred to me then that I still hadn't told Frank about how I saw sounds and heard colors, but it didn't matter. Love was all that mattered that day.

Our friends and family clapped a bright orange. We ran down the aisle, Frank's shoes clomping a forest green, my heels clacking a bright red. We burst out the chapel to the gold sound of church bells. Birds chirped and the wind blew and it sounded like green.

I looked at Frank and he looked back at me, smiling the biggest smile I'd seen on him in a long time. There was no fear in his eyes, no somber darkness that had been present ever since he first began training. There was only the bright greyish blue I remembered seeing on the very first day I met him.

“I love you, Alice,” he said, his voice crashing like waves on the shore.

“I love you, Frank,” I answered, silvery lavender surrounding us.

***

_Baby Neville's cry was the brightest blue. It was the color of the sky on the coldest, brightest day in the middle of February. It was the color that greenish-blue formed when it met silvery lavender. It was the color of Frank and I._

***

Auror training was two years. During those two years Frank went away on twenty-two missions. He wound up in St. Mungo's four times. I lost count of the number of times I patched him up at home. He refused to speak about what he saw and what he had to do. Instead he wanted to be distracted by stories from training. He reminisced about his own training days, as if they were from decades ago instead of less than a year ago.

A week after my own training ended and a month before I was set to go on my own first mission as a junior Auror, I told Frank I was pregnant. He wept. He wept from sadness about bringing a child into a war-torn world. He wept out of happiness that something in the world as natural and normal as having a child could still happen. He wept out of relief that my Auror career was put on hold before it could even begin.

Nine months passed. Labor began. It was a sensory overload as the birthing suite at St. Mungo's filled with sound and color. My own screams were a bright red. The midwife's voice was the color of lilacs when they first bloom. Frank's reassurances were greenish-blue, but it was more subdued than his regular voice. The clattering of equipment was brown. The door banging closed was a lighter brown.

Every color in the room joined together until it formed the thickest cloud of color I'd ever seen in my life. I screamed louder and the red took over, covering every other color until all I could see was red. The pain intensified. I screamed again. The midwife was shouting. Frank was squeezing my hand.

Until, I heard another scream, another cry. And it was the brightest blue I'd ever seen in my life. I stopped screaming and the red went away. All the other colors went away until all I could see was blue.

My baby was placed in my arms. Frank hugged us both, his tears falling onto the baby's head.

“He's beautiful,” Frank whispered.

He was the picture of innocence. He was Frank and he was me. He was us. He was Neville.

I smiled at him, unable to take my eyes off the beautiful baby boy whose cry was the color of Frank and I, the perfect mixture of silvery lavender and greenish-blue. I smiled at him and I knew I would do anything to fix the world for him. I knew I would fight.

“Neville,” I whispered. “Daddy and I are going to fight. We're going to fight for you.”

A year later, I cried as I left my beautiful Neville with Frank's parents, ready to go on my first mission. I cried, but Neville smiled and waved, shouting “Baba!” as I settled him onto the floor at his grandparents' house. His gleeful babbling swirling blue all around him.

***

_The cruciatus curse was black as it was shouted with hate from the mouth of Bellatrix Lestrange. It was black like tar, like the night sky when there was no moon. It was black like the evil it required for it to work._

***

“Tell me!” she shouted as she shot curse after curse at Frank and I. “Tell me where he is! Tell me what's happened to him! TELL ME!”

I deflected another two curses and dove out of the way. Bellatrix Lestrange set fire to the tree I was using for protection and the flames licked my arms, burning my robes to the elbows. Quickly, I doused the flames and cursed under my breath as I tumbled out of the way of another spell.

“You'll regret it!” she shouted.

Neither Frank or I could've told her if we wanted to. Nobody knew where He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named went. Nobody knew what had happened when he sought out the Potters mere days ago. Nobody knew why he met his end at the hands of a one-year-old child. All everybody knew was that he was gone.

I pushed thoughts of poor Lily and James Potter out of my mind. I pushed thoughts of Harry, who was only a day younger than Neville, out of my mind. Instead I focused on Bellatrix Lestrange, who was trying her hardest to make sure Frank and I did not make it home to our own child.

Colors swirled around me. I saw my silvery lavender and Frank's greenish-blue. Bellatrix's voice was a deep, dark red, so dark it was practically black. It spewed from her mouth every time she spoke. It made me wonder what He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's voice looked like. I imagined it would be pure black, with perhaps a little green thrown in. Lily and James could've seen the color of his voice, mere days ago, if they had what I had.

Synesthesia. I'd learned what it was called when your senses were all mixed up a few weeks ago. I hadn't been looking. I'd stopped looking when I was still at Hogwarts and realized I needed to actually study in order to pass my exams. But there it was in a parenting book I'd borrowed from Lily Potter. Synesthesia. It wasn't a magical talent. It wasn't an illness or an ailment. It was rare, but it affected wizards and Muggles alike. All it simply meant was that the brain mixed up the senses. It could happen with any senses. Taste, smell, touch, hearing, and even the way one thought.

That was it. It was simple. And it explained everything.

“Alice, look out!”

Frank's greenish-blue voice fell over me and he pushed me out of the way, absorbing the full blow of Bellatrix Lestrange's cruciatus curse.

I screamed as I watched Frank writhing on the ground, his face pure agony. The screams were red, redder even than when I'd given birth to Neville.

“Frank!” I shouted as I ran to him. I threw up a shield, but it was weak.

“Crucio!” Bellatrix Lestrange shouted again, her deep red voice taking over the clearing. The red turned black as she laughed manically.

The spell burst through my shield. I raised my wand to protect Frank, but my disarmament charm fizzled before it even got halfway to Bellatrix. I threw myself on top of Frank, silvery lavender covering greenish-blue, as the blackness of the spell hit me with full force.

Agony. Pain. Black. Dark red. I saw the darkest colors, colors I hadn't even known to exist, as Bellatrix continued.

“Crucio!” she shouted again. Her dark red laugh echoed off the trees.

I could feel my mind slipping away. I no longer knew where Frank was or where we were or how we got there. There was only pain. Pain and color. The worst colors. I longed for silvery lavender. I longed for greenish-blue. I longed for bright blue. But there was only dark red and black and then there was nothing.

***

_There is a hum in St. Mungo's. It is dull and nearly insignificant, but it is there. There is no color. It is empty. It is nothing._

***

There was an old woman. Her voice was clear. It was nothing. Like everything else, her voice was colorless.

There was a boy. He didn't speak. He stood beside the old lady. The old lady spoke, but I did not understand. Her mouth moved. Sounds came out, without any color.

I listened, not understanding. I had a wrapper in my hand. It was bright blue. The brightest blue.

The woman said something else, then hugged the man next to me. Then she hugged me. Then she said something to the boy. The boy hugged the man next to me. The boy hugged me.

The woman moved the curtains. They clanged a high pitched tinkle, but there was no color. The woman and the boy turned away.

There was commotion. Four other people were there. A boy and a girl with orange hair. A boy with messy black hair. A girl with a lot of curly brown hair. The orange haired boy was loud. The other three were quiet, but all four of their voices were nothing.

I looked again at the boy who came in with the old woman. He looked...something. Empty. I didn't know. Thoughts seemed too far away. Instead, I looked back at the wrapper. It was so bright, so blue. It made me think of the boy, as if the two were connected somehow. But I didn't know how.

I stood up. I walked slowly. My legs didn't seem to work the right way. The man next to me mumbled something. I had the wrapper in my hand.

I reached the empty boy. The boy who hadn't spoken. I held out my hand. It shook.

The boy held out his hand.

“Again? Very well, Alice dear, very well – Neville, take it, whatever it is...,” the woman said with her colorless voice.

I placed the wrapper in the boy's hand.

“Very nice, dear,” the woman said. She patted my shoulder. I wasn't sure why.

The empty boy's hand closed around the wrapper, the blue disappearing. “Thanks, Mum,” he said.

I saw the brightest blue.

***

_Neville's voice is the brightest blue. It is the color of the sky on the coldest, brightest day in the middle of February. It is the color of Drooble's Best-Blowing Gum. It is the color of Frank. It is the color of me. It is the color of us._

**Author's Note:**

> The dialogue in the final scene in St. Mungo's is taken/adapted from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix by J.K. Rowling, pages 514-515, American hardcover edition.
> 
> A/N: I wrote this for Cherry_pop94's The Masterpieces Challenge. Rather than picking one piece of art to be inspired by, I chose an artist and that artist was Wassily Kandinsky. This one-shot was inspired by his life, his work, and also the biography The Noisy Paint Box by Barb Rosenstock. It is a fantastic picture book that delves into Kandinsky's childhood, work, and his synesthesia.
> 
> Wassily Kandinsky had synesthesia and many believe that is what contributed to his style of art. HIs work is fascinating, especially when you look at it after learning a bit about synesthesia.
> 
> There are many different types of synesthesia and the kind I gave Alice is called chromesthesia. It, along with lexical-gustatory synesthesia (words tasting like certain things) are probably the types most people think of when they think of synesthesia.


End file.
